


I'll Be the Desert Island

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beach Sex, Cruise Ships, Desert Island Fic, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Sassy Draco Malfoy, Stranded, anywhere but the bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: Draco and Harry are dropped from their Port Key onto a deserted island in the Caribbean. They're stranded, it's burning hot, and they have no way to get home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a super fast fic for a prompt for the [Anywhere But the Bed comment fest](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/152481.html) which I just saw ran from March 7-13. roflmao. well, i got the "7" part right. 
> 
> The prompt was "Not so deserted island"
> 
> The title comes from a song by the Magnetic Fields called _Desert Island._

“Captain’s Log. Star Date—”

“You're not the captain, and there is no Star Date, Malfoy. Ever since you saw _Star Trek_ on the telly, you’ve been acting like an idiot.” Frustrated, Harry pushed his damp fringe out of his eyes as he investigated the area where they’d crashed.

“That's what you know,” Draco sneered, cringing at both the weak come-back and the pain in his swollen knee as he shifted position, struggling to make himself more comfortable. But sitting on scalding shards of sand and leaning against a boulder wasn’t exactly _Homes and Gardens_.

Instead of responding further, Draco returned to recording his video. He ignored Harry, who stripped off his Auror robe and uniform shirt before casting wards to secure their area.

Heart pounding from pain and the oppressive heat, Draco began the recording spell. “We were chasing a lead, to some place called Key West, when our Portkey malfunctioned and dropped us just south of Hell.” He pulled his sweat-soaked shirt from his body looking for relief from the overwhelming humidity. “It is well past tea time and the sun’s intensity is the strongest I’ve ever felt.”

“I'm _assuming_ we are on a deserted island in the Caribbean. I have attempted to stand,” Draco pointed his wand to his leg and then back toward his face. “However, my knee is a mess. While it may be a break, it’s more likely sprained. Unfortunately, my partner, _Auror Potter,_ has no mending spells in his _vast repertoire_.” Draco rolled his eyes so anyone viewing this after his death would understand his level of sarcasm and distrust. And dislike. “I am reconciled to having him be my eyes and ears. I know, therefore, that we will die on this island.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Harry turned away from the ocean to flip off Draco. “Don't make out it’s my fault. _You_ don't know the right ones, either.”

Draco meant to stare haughtily and ignore that Harry was right, but in truth his leg hurt like a bitch. "Potter, make yourself useful and see if there are pain potions in the medical kit.” He rested his head against the boulder, pretending it was comfortable.

Harry pulled the miniature medical kit from his trouser pocket and expanded it with a tap of his wand. Draco watched Harry place the kit on a tree stump and bend over to rummage through the box. If Draco watched Harry, it wasn’t to focus on his back muscles that shifted with each movement or his thighs, thick from hours of Auror drills and mandatory weight training. It was solely to make sure that he dosed the pain medication correctly, because Potter was an idiot.

Once Draco drank the potion, Harry balled his Auror robe under Draco’s head as a make-shift pillow.

Draco leaned back again, more comfortable this time from the potion and the pillow. “Honestly, Potter,” Draco said with his eyes closed. “The way you treat your uniform is criminal. You’ll probably be arrested one day for a violation created just for you. The Potter Law: any Auror who treats his or her uniform with absolute disrespect and disregard.”

Draco heard Harry snort. Or maybe it was his own snore as he fell into a pleasant sleep.

~*~

“Captain’s Log. I have sent Potter to search the island. Since my knee is now swollen roughly the size of a football, I have no choice but to trust his skill. However, I am certain he will miss any signs of life. Because he's an idiot. I am resigned to our eventual death here, lost to our families, the Auror Corps, and the world.”

Draco paused his recording to assess any changes to their situation since Potter had obviously overdosed him, causing him to fall asleep. Although he was awake, he felt slow and dull from the potion and the heat. His knee had turned a shade he could only describe as “aubergine purple.” The sun was well over head, so afternoon. No food. No people. No Potter. He restarted his video.

“With regard to my partner, he’s done nothing but complain about the heat rather than bucking up and dealing with it as I have. Thus far, he’s removed his Auror robe and his uniform shirt. He’s a disgrace to the Auror Corps. I believe it likely he’s stripped because he’s ridiculously vain and wants to show off the hours he’s wasted at the gym.”

Draco looked over his shoulder to ensure he was alone before continuing. “I would say it's not working, but I believe in the unvarnished truth. He may be an idiot, but he has very—uh—nice musculature.” Draco coughed to hide his embarrassment before continuing.

Hearing footsteps in the foliage behind him, Draco stopped and raised his wand toward the noise. His heart raced as he tried to identify possible intruders from the sound. No matter who or what, he was a statistic if he just waited it out. Scrubbing sweat from his eyes, Draco stood, wobbly until his knee gave out, and he collapsed back to the sand. He cast a weak _Protego_ hoping the shield would hold up against an enemy.

Instead, it was Potter. Bare chested and sweaty. Hands cradling something. Grinning.

Draco fell back against the boulder, drained from the adrenaline spike and the pain. “I’m lost as to how you ever catch criminals, Potter, with the way you just bullied your way through the undergrowth.”

“Ha. You’re back to your normal, arrogant self.” Harry shook his head, his smile still wide. “I think people must’ve lived here. There’s buildings, but no way you could hobble there.”

Draco blinked back his exhaustion, which was affecting his vision. It looked like—had Potter desecrated his uniform trousers? They were torn at the knees, rendering them shorts of a sort. They couldn’t be comfortable, painted on like that, plastered to his thighs with perspiration, leaving nothing to Draco’s imagination. He looked away, before the outline of Harry’s thick cock pressing against the fabric seared itself onto his mind.

“I found dinner,” Potter said, and Draco’s stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Harry crouched down to show Draco what he’d found.

Draco slapped the mushrooms out of Harry’s hands. “Those are poisonous. Are you trying to kill us?” Draco _Scourgified_ their hands. “Thank Godric I paid attention in Potions class.”

“And thank Godric _I_ paid attention when we studied them in training. These _are_ edible.” Grumbling, Harry picked them out of the sand and moved to the almost-shade, where he transfigured a pebble into a small cauldron. Within minutes a mushroom soup boiled over a low fire.

Draco watched him warily before picking up his wand. “Captain’s Log. As if not healing me weren’t enough, my partner is cooking—and I use that term loosely—poisonous mushroom soup.”

Harry pulled a camping bowl from the med kit and spooned broth into it. “Want some?” he asked politely.

Draco wavered as his stomach growled. Instead, he grabbed his wand. “I may as well eat some of his soup. We all must die someday,” he said to the camera.

Biting back a smile, Harry emptied the remaining soup into his bowl; then careful not to spill any, brought it to Draco.

“This is yours,” Draco argued, his hands resting over Harry’s on the bowl.

“Now it’s yours. And look. I’m not even dead from the poison.” Harry smiled as he waved his hands down his body.

Draco paid little attention to the scratch marks across Harry’s chest from the brambles he’d pushed through. Barely noticed that the few hours in the sun had made his body more tan instead of red like Draco’s. That Harry was taking care of him. _This is what partners did for each other. Not partners. Not like **romantic** partners. Auror partners. Work. Just work._

Harry sat cross-legged on the sand and eyed Draco’s knee through his fitted uniform trousers. “I need to—” Harry gestured in the general direction of Draco’s legs.

Draco copied Potter’s hand motion. “You need to--?” He knew Harry meant that, to access the injury, he’d have to remove Draco’s trousers. And it was true. But dammit, he was going to make Potter say the words. Ask to remove Draco’s trousers, watch him squirm as he unzipped the flies, shrugged them off Draco’s hips. Thank you Merlin, he’d chosen to wear pants that morning.

Potter’s face turned a shade redder, and not from the strong Caribbean sun. “I need to—your trousers are—dammit.” Potter must have decided it wasn’t worth explaining (or didn’t have the right words) and vanished Draco’s trousers.

Draco felt let down and refused to even entertain the thought that he’d wanted Potter’s hands on him, on his flies, on his pants. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath and schooled his face to something more disdainful than desirous. He focused on the soup and not Potter’s fingers on his knee.

Harry’s fingers pressed and prodded the swollen tissue, then used his wand to perform a few rudimentary spells to check for breaks. “Looks like it’s just a sprain,” he said, pointing his wand at Draco’s knee.

“You can tell that, but you can’t mend it?” Draco mocked, scraping the remaining bits of mushroom from the bottom of the bowl.

“No fever, but you are borderline dehydrated.” Harry ignored Draco’s comment and finished his evaluation. “And you should’ve told me how bad you hurt. Your pain receptors are all lit up.” He _Accio’d_ the med kit to his side and dug through it.

Draco shook off Harry’s concern and continued his log entry. “I do not know the current time or day. We have been here marooned without food or water for months—”

“First of all, you just had soup.” Harry found a cup in the kit, and with an _Aguamenti_ poured Draco a glass of cold, clear water. “Second, we’ve been here _maybe_ two hours. If you bothered to learn the _Tempus_ spell, you could tell the time and date with your wand.”

Grudgingly, Draco took the drink. He thought about splashing it in Harry’s face for being an arse. Almost did it. But he realized, as he watched the condensation drip down the side of the glass, that he was really fucking thirsty. And he could think of a hundred other ways to piss off Potter.

Draco guzzled down the water. But he _didn’t_ say thank you when he handed it back.

Potter snickered and returned the cup to the bag. “The sun’s setting. It might get cold when it’s dark. I’m going to find more kindling.”

Before Harry walked away, Draco cast the spell for recording. “I’m saddened to report that Potter has been overcome by heat stroke. I know this because he’s been uncharacteristically kind to me, attempting to make me comfortable. It isn't working, but it was kind. I am suspicious.”

With Potter not around to antagonize, Draco closed his eyes but couldn't fall asleep. He was starving, parched, and in pain. It was too far to apparate home. They couldn't get a message back. In the end, he'd probably have to rely on Weasley and his weird sixth sense about Potter for someone to even realize they were stranded.

He fell asleep, the worries swirling in his mind. When Draco woke up, the sun had fully set and he was surrounded by darkness. He'd fallen to his side as he slept, and his right cheek and ear were sandy and sore. Draco struggled to right himself, and when he was sitting once again, he saw the flickers of light from Potter’s campfire. The night air was cold against his skin.

“Captain’s log. The sun has set and the temperatures have dropped below freezing--”

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, it's still at least 27 degrees.”

Draco jumped in shock at the voice behind him, forgot that he couldn’t move because of his knee, and fell to his side. He’d never admit to anyone ever that he wound up with sand in his mouth when his face hit the ground.

He inched back up, wiping the sand away with the back of his hand. Potter, the idiot, had probably ambushed Draco just to watch him make a fool of himself regardless of the fact that he was apologizing profusely. Potter’s stupid apology meant nothing when he was laughing as he said it.

Draco wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting he'd been caught off guard, so he pointedly ignored the apology. “It is below freezing, and surely I will die from exposure. I leave this log as testimony that The Chosen One has allowed me to die alone and frozen.”

Harry laughed until the sound echoed off the trees. “No one is going to freeze and no one is going to die.” He transfigured their cloaks into a sleeping bag and pillow for Draco and helped him ease down to the makeshift sleeping bag. “I'm sorry I couldn't find anything else for us to eat.”

Harry zipped Draco in and then stepped away, halfway between the campfire and Draco. He lay down on the sand and rested his head on his arm, staring at the stars that were just now visible.

Harry sighed, and if Draco hadn’t been ~~staring~~ no, ~~watching~~ , no—hadn’t happened to catch a glimpse of Harry at that moment, he might have missed it. Harry looked exhausted and afraid. Not that something might attack them; he was the quickest, best fighter Draco had ever met. But the way he swiped at his eyes, the rigid line of his back and legs. He looked like his brain was still racing, searching for answers, even though his body was supposed to be resting.

Draco realized Harry had carried them today. While Draco sat immobilized, Potter had searched the island and ensured that Draco was both safe and comfortable. He’d given up his meal to Draco and had even good-naturedly laughed at Draco’s gibes.

It was time Draco acknowledged what he’d ignored for six months. Since they became partners. Potter was kind. Attentive. Seductive.

_Tempting._

Draco rolled as much on his side as he could, stopping when the sharp pain from his knee shot up his leg. He wanted to see Harry—to be objective for maybe the first time since they were 11. Although the sun had set, the sand was still too warm; Harry had nothing to shield himself from the discomfort of the ground because he’d chosen to transfigure his cloak for Draco to use. He supposed Harry could have used his shirt, but Merlin only knew where the rest of his uniform was.

He seemed almost holy, lying in the dark with the firelight flickering behind him like a halo. Draco choked on his smarmy, poetic image; he may admit to himself that his crush on Harry was real, but he wasn’t going to turn into some lovesick puppy. Still. Draco wished he could soothe Harry’s deep sighs, press away the furrow that had been between his eyebrows. Brush his lips over Harry’s, as his hand slid down the front of the shredded uniform trousers and grasped…

No. Nope. That was not going to happen, because Potter had never once looked at Draco that way. Also, Potter was an idiot.

He could be kind to Potter without his mind going down that street. He would just push thoughts of sex—delicious, filthy sex—out of his mind, and do something nice. He’d shock Potter, and that would be worth the trouble.

“What are you doing over there?” Draco made his voice haughty, what he assumed would sound normal to Harry. And definitely not like he had any ulterior motives.

“Trying to sleep but you won't stop talking,” Harry huffed and covered his eyes with his other arm. He sounded exhausted and spiritless.

“Oh, no you don't,” Draco said, struggling to sit upright. “You're not going to sleep over there and freeze to death and have everyone say I killed the Saviour of the Magical World." He expanded the size of the sleeping bag to fit them both comfortably and prayed Harry wouldn’t make him say the words. That might be just too humiliating.

Harry sat up and cocked his head, shook it vigorously, tapped at his forehead and shook it again. Draco watched Harry’s performance, torn between wanting to hex him and needing not to encourage him by laughing. Instead, he sighed deeply, attempting to sound long-suffering. “Good lord, Potter. No one’s here to vote for your WAFTA performance…”

Harry picked up his wand from the sand and hurried into the sleeping bag. He flipped onto his right side and squirmed, trying to leave space between himself and Draco as he searched for a comfortable spot. Eventually, Harry stopped wriggling and sighed in what Draco assumed was contentment.

“Are you quite done now?” Draco asked, hoping he sounded like he regretted the invitation. “You have the grace of a hippogriff in a firewhisky shop. You’ve kicked me at least 87 separate times, and I’m certainly maimed for life—”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted Draco’s diatribe. “I appreciate it.”

Draco couldn’t respond around the lump in his dry throat. He wanted to pretend that Harry’s soft voice, intimate in the darkness, was just for him and that Harry’s appreciation wasn’t for co-sleeping but for something more meaningful between them.

Draco flushed at the realization that he was in serious lust over Potter (if not much, much more). Maybe the fluttering in his stomach was from bad mushroom soup. He’d actually welcome food poisoning over feeling like a kneazle in heat.

He stared at Harry’s back, watching his side rise and fall as his breathing slowed. Draco couldn’t sleep facing Harry, in a mockery of spooning. What if he woke up, wrapped around the git, and just Draco’s rotten luck, he’d have morning wood, pushed against Potter’s arse? He’d have to pretend it didn’t happen, then ask his boss to get him a new partner, maybe even a transfer. To Scotland, because anywhere else would just be too close for his mortifying humiliation.

“I was thinking…” Harry said, his voice muffled by the fabric and batting of the bag.

“God help us all.” _Act normal. Act natural,_ Draco thought.

Harry rolled over to face Draco and continued. “ _Episkey_ works on breaks, right? But I don't know if it would help a sprain. Do you think it's worth trying?”

Draco considered Harry’s question. “I trust your instincts,” Draco said, because it was true; Harry laughed as if he were waiting for the punchline.

Draco rolled over, morning wood be damned. “We've been partners for six months, and I’ve seen you do things that make no sense, that are just fucking wrong, and they always work out.” And he meant all of it. They’d been the best six months he’d had in years. Every day was a legitimate adventure because he never knew what bloody mess Potter would get them into and then save them from. “I trust you.”

Harry huffed out a _thanks_ at the backhanded compliment before he cast the spell. Draco’s body tensed as the spell’s heat seared then froze his knee, locking it in place.

“That’s bloody _freezing,_ ” Draco bit out, grabbing for his leg. It hurt worse than anything he’d ever experienced, much worse than the sprain.

Harry whispered _shhh_ , rubbing Draco’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he said, and Draco believed he meant it. “Let me see if it worked.”

Harry pointed his wand into the bag and illuminated the darkness. His silence told Draco what he needed to know.

“On the plus side, your incompetent spell work didn’t blast my knee to pieces,” Draco said. “It’s not your fault.” He reached out to pat Harry’s shoulder, but felt the rough whiskers on his cheek. He thought he moved it down to Potter’s shoulder, but fell asleep before he was certain.

~*~

Draco woke feeling weighed down and entirely too hot. He cracked open his eyes slowly; no place had the right to be so sunny and so hot so early in the morning.

He tried to move but couldn’t. Draco opened his eyes the rest of the way; no sleeping bag was this weighty. And hairy. And well-muscled.

Harry was snuggled against him, arm draped over Draco’s hip. His fingers dangled dangerously close to Draco’s fly; another centimeter closer, and Harry would know exactly what his body was doing to Draco.

He shifted away from Harry and waited for the wretched pain to set in as he moved his knee.

Nothing.

Draco slowly bent his knee, but not even a twinge. He grinned in relief—yet another benefit of Wizard life. Even the swelling had disappeared. Damn, the _Episkey_ **had** worked.

He shifted further away, unzipped the sleeping bag and began to edge out from under Harry’s arm.

But Harry burrowed closer and draped his arm protectively around Draco’s waist. “Where going?” he mumbled into Draco’s shoulder, then brushed his lips against Draco’s skin. Once. Twice.

Draco tensed, afraid to move. Because if he moved, then Potter would wake up and realize this horrible, ugly mistake, and he’d be all _Oh my Godric! I’m so so sorry. I’m the Saviour of the Wizarding World. I hold myself to a higher standard than mere mortals._ That new flat in Scotland was looking like more of a reality.

 _Fuck it. This isn’t fair,_ Draco thought. His jaw tightened as he pressed his lips together. Well, Potter had to wake up at some point; Draco mentally apologized to his soon-to-be failed career and took Harry’s hand, warm and loose with sleep. He tried to slide it off his hipbone, but Harry looped his fingers around Draco’s, as if he didn’t want Draco to leave him.

Draco closed his eyes and pretended they were lovers, waking up together for the thousandth morning. That he knew the feel of Harry’s beard against his body, the heat of his breath as they paused between kisses.

 _Enough._ He wasn’t Harry’s. Never would be Harry’s. Time to end the fairy tale and start the day. The truth wrenched Draco’s heart, but the heat was making him a fool. He needed to tear himself away, like taking a plaster off a wound. Quick and all at once.

Before Draco could roll out of the sleeping bag, Harry drew his hand down Draco’s thigh. “How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice still sleep-rough.

Draco’s breath hitched with a tiny squeak. “Potter.”

“Malfoy.” Harry rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder. His nose was just behind Draco’s ear, which was possibly the most intimate, non-sexual experience Draco had ever had.

Also, ewww. Sweat and heat and the odor of two bodies in one sleeping bag —Draco couldn’t be arsed to really care at that moment.

“You know it’s me?” he whispered, careful not to move. The world had changed overnight, upside down inside out, and Draco was afraid that his words would somehow shake things back.

“Who else would I be with?” Harry asked, holding Draco tight. He brushed the tip of his nose against the shell of Draco’s ear; Draco shivered and knew, from the new pressure of Harry’s hips against his bottom, that Harry’d felt it, too.

Draco moved his hand from Harry’s. Maybe Potter was suffering from heat stroke. Delusional dehydration. “I just—I didn’t—you’re _holding me_.”

“Too much? _Is_ hot in here,” Harry said, mumbling sleepily.

Draco knew the exact moment Harry’s brain woke up.

“Oh. Oh shit.” Harry untangled himself from Draco. He sliced the fabric open with his wand and scrambled out onto the sand, frantic and unsure. He didn’t speak, but his wand traced the as if he were looking for a spell to fix what he’d done. 

Draco watched him panic--wanted to assure Harry that, whatever it was, it would be ok. But his own emotions were wild, roiling, cresting at desire (he absolutely noticed Harry’s erection pushing at the front of his shorts) and bottoming-out in fear. Waking up next to Harry was a shock, but it was good. It was--what he hadn’t known he needed and now never wanted to go without. But this, watching Harry agonize, wasn’t worth it. 

Draco stood, awkward and careful with his knee. He reached for Harry, but Harry backed away. 

“I fucked it up,” Harry said, yanking his fingers through his hair. He avoided looking at Draco.

“Potter.” Draco steeled his voice. “I literally have no idea what you’re on about.”

When Harry finally looked up, his face was red. “I’m such a _Great Auror_ with _Great Instincts_ ,” he said, mocking himself with Draco’s words and air quotes, “That I misread everything. You. Me. You’re always flirting with me, and yesterday, you kept calling me an idiot, and I thought, maybe you’re finally, like, interested. And then you wanted me to sleep with you.”

Draco stared at Harry, torn between feeling terrible for poor Harry who was mortified about misreading all the cues. And to laugh because Harry hadn’t misread them at all. “You think every time I call you an idiot, I’m flirting?” And he did laugh as he reached out to Harry.

“Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like _that_.” Potter smiled, but didn’t move toward Draco, who suspected that Potter didn’t want to be wrong again.

Draco smiled as he held out his hand, palm up. “I call you idiot all the time.”

“I know! You’re always flirting with me.” Harry hesitated but finally placed his on top of Draco’s.

Draco curled his fingers around Harry’s and gently pulled him closer. “I rather hope I was more subtle than that. It’s a bit cliché to have a crush on your work partner.”

Harry laughed, and it sounded clear and carefree. “Well, yeah. I know, that’s why I never said anything. Would it be okay if—” Harry brushed his knuckle against Draco’s cheek, drew it down to trace Draco’s bottom lip. 

“Can I kiss you?” Draco finished what he hoped was Harry’s question. He closed the distance between them, knew that Harry would be able to feel his heart pounding as they pressed together. 

As first kisses went, it wasn’t storybook. Draco’s lips were dry and chapped, and they both desperately needed a proper teeth brushing. But to Draco, it was perfect. 

“How’s your knee?” Harry asked, breaking their kiss long enough to check Draco’s leg. 

“A bit wobbly right now.” Draco grinned and pushed Harry away. “Before we do anything else, we have to wash up.” He cocked his head toward the ocean and grinned. “Last one in has to find something for breakfast.”

Draco raced toward the surf, pulling his shirt over his head; he stumbled as he shook his briefs off his ankle and Harry, who’d finally understood what was at stake, almost caught up. Draco looked over his shoulder. “Come on, Potter. Don’t just stand there looking like an idiot.”

“Shut up. I’m busy staring at your arse.” Harry grinned and chased Draco into the water, both of them naked and relaxed.

Harry tackled Draco and pushed them both under the water. Draco bobbed back up and treaded water. Although it was early, likely not past 8, the sun was blinding and flashed off the waves; it was impossible to see much further than arm’s length. 

Harry resurfaced in front of Draco and kissed him quickly before diving back down and swimming away. They chased each other, stopping occasionally to touch or kiss. Draco swam toward the shore and stood, dripping and wishing for a towel. Or his wand to transfigure something into a towel.

Harry padded out of the shallow water, his feet slapping. He came up behind Draco and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. 

“Stop stalling. I won, and you need to find something for breakfast.” Draco turned to face Harry without breaking the hug. 

“I know exactly what I want.” Harry winked and dropped to his knees on the soft, wet sand. The tide washed around them, only to Draco’s ankles, and ebbed out again. 

Harry looked up. Unobstructed by his glasses, Harry’s eyes were brighter and the color deeper than Draco had ever realized, and his breath caught. 

“Y’know, Potter,” Draco said, his voice cracking. “If I must be stranded on a deserted island with someone, I’m glad it’s you.” He stroked his fingers through Harry’s damp curls. 

Potter closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Draco’s cock, thick and flushed. “Me, too,” he said before dragging his tongue across the crown. 

Draco shivered at the feeling of Harry’s mouth on him, kissing slowly down his cock until his nose rested at the base and swirled his tongue around Draco’s balls. He watched Harry through half-closed eyelids that grew heavier each time Harry pulled off; a part of Draco wouldn’t believe that Harry Motherfucking Potter was on his knees sucking him, had _asked_ to, which was pretty fucking hot to start with. 

Draco tightened his fingers in Harry’s hair, willing himself not to thrust. To hold out and make this last, but it was almost impossible with Harry looking up at him through his dark lashes and moaning, drooling around Draco’s cock. 

Any piece of himself Draco had held back, any last thought of turning back burst as Harry slowly worked up and down Draco’s cock. He didn’t know if he were falling or flying, but he felt weightless and free with Harry. His hips jerked and he pushed into Harry’s mouth as he came without warning. Draco was certain Harry’s scalp would be sore from his grip but assumed that the next few minutes would make up for it. 

He should have known nothing with Potter would ever be easy and peaceful.

He heard Harry’s hand slick and wet on himself as he pulled off Draco with a loud **pop** that was so filthy it should have been illegal.

The new voice shattered Draco’s serenity; he grabbed for his wand, realizing too late that he was naked. On a beach. With Harry Potter jerking off at his feet. 

“Oh, fuck me, I’ll never be able to unsee this.” 

_Fucking Weasley, with his fucking sixth sense, and fucking inconvenient timing._

The rescue team had arrived.

A long, deep, low sound shook him, reverberated in his bones. It sounded like—a ship’s horn, but it—it couldn’t be. 

He turned from Weasley, doubled over and laughing so hard he almost fell over, and looked toward the ocean. 

A ship, with passengers on the decks, watching the two naked men. How long they’d had a show, Draco didn’t know, but he saw them waving and, regardless of the fact it was a family cruise line, hollering out entirely inappropriate suggestions.

“Deserted island, Potter?” Draco laughed with the tiniest tinge of embarrassment. “I never should have sent an idiot on reconnaissance.” 

Harry grinned, and Draco knew he’d heard the tenderness in his words. Draco pressed his shoulders back, begged his jelly-legs to work, and reached down for Harry. If they were going to face this, then they’d face it together.


End file.
